


Eat The Sorrow, Lick The Spark

by WantsUnicorns



Series: Lullaby Verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantsUnicorns/pseuds/WantsUnicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Morgen früh, wenn Gott will".</p>
<p>Several weeks have passed since the chamber collapsed. The new world they find themselves in is a forbidding place and while Albus tries to save the others he can't help but remember what brought them there in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat The Sorrow, Lick The Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kiss and LH for the beta and handholding! <3
> 
> There's basically two timestreams here, being told simultaenously. One is Harry's and one Albus'. (I somehow feel the need to clear that up. XD)
> 
> The title is from that wonderful song “Bloodbeat” by Patrick Wolf and the lyrics at the beginning of the fic are from “Summertime” by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Additionally I can’t claim to have come up with the description of Harry’s hair in one of the scenes, that’s from either “Bloodsucking Fiends” or “You Suck” by Christopher Moore.  
> This was originally posted to hp_zombiefest over on LJ.
> 
>   
> *happy smile*

_One of these mornings  
You’re goin’ to rise up singing  
Then you’ll spread your wings  
And you’ll take to the sky  
But till that morning  
There’s nothin’ can harm you  
With daddy and mummy standin’ by  
So hush, little baby, baby, now don’t you cry_

 

The roof is leaking and no matter where I sit a steady drip, drip, drip of raindrops always finds its cold slithering way into my collar, soaking my bandage and making my skin ache. It’s been over a week since I’ve been released from my cell and what they now call “integrated” into society.

We live in a ghost town, charred high-rise buildings are the major landmarks. Most streets are barricaded by the burnt out carcasses of busses and cars, caught in eternal gridlock. Part of me doubts that they moved much in the convoluted streets of this vast city even when the paint wasn’t falling off them in huge rusty flakes. Everything here is old and falling apart. Even the houses they live in look diseased. Looking at them and what they’ve become, I’m starting to wonder whether they are really better off being alive. The entire city stinks of fear, death and sickness. 

It took me almost three days to find the opportunity to sneak out and I haven’t been back since. I’ve tried to find out where they are keeping Scorpius. I’ve only been able to narrow it down to a group of houses which are on the same street I’m observing from above. All of them are heavily guarded and I can only assume it’s to make sure the infected that are being experimented on don’t escape.

I hope that Scorpius knows I’m coming for him. I won’t leave him behind when I go. He would rather die than to be poked and prodded and stuck full of needles, I know it and if anything, I’ll fulfil his wish.

My name is Albus Severus Potter and I’m a survivor. I woke up in a sarcophagus in a cave deep below the ruins of this city about two weeks ago. The world I grew up in doesn’t exist anymore. This world is cold and cruel and void of hope. What our parents did to us was supposed to give us a chance at a better life. Free us from sickness and worry. Maybe that’s still possible, maybe it’s something that’s on the other side of the hills I can make out in the distance. The grass is always greener on the other side is what they used to say. I gaze over the wide expanses of dead grass in the distance that stretch until they meet the sky and try to picture it. I realise I can’t, not anymore.

The guard is about to change below, if I don’t take my chances now, I’ll have to wait another four hours. I stealthily make my way downstairs and slowly release the disillusionment charm I’ve placed on myself the night before. The amount of magic released like this is too small for even the infected to pick up my scent. I might only have been out here for about a week, but I’ve already learned that much.

I dart across the street, cursing myself my own negligence when I realise that the silencing charm on my feet has worn off. There’s nothing to be done however, I have to keep going. Water splashes loudly in every direction with every single step as I run across the street, zigzagging between the puddles. The buildings loom in front of me threateningly. The rain increases again and that’s probably why I’m not discovered when I jump into the nearest doorway just before two guards run by. I try the thick wooden door at my back to no avail. It’s locked.

Just as I was about to break the “no magic” rule, which would have sent the entire compound of infected into mindless howling and diminished my chance of getting out of this alive significantly. The guards are back, knocking at the door. They push me inside unknowingly, so desperate are they to get out of the rain.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

I remember my parents from when I was little. I remember riding on my father’s shoulders and cheering on his favourite Quidditch team from the stands. Our house was never quiet, neither was my time at Hogwarts. That doesn’t really matter anymore. Hogwarts has finally fallen. I’m sure Voldemort is shaking with laughter in his grave, getting his will at last.

I want to tell you a story, the story of the people who tried to save me.

Their story should be one about the knight in shiny armour that defeated the dragon, got the princess and lived happily ever after. This is not that kind of story.

My parents had got married right out of Hogwarts. My father, the hero of the wizarding world, always uncomfortable with his fame and just trying to stay under the radar and my mother, the girl who’d stuck with him through hard times and who’d finally been rewarded for her long wait. He was recruited straight into Auror training by the Ministry of Magic and she was seen playing Quidditch in the park with her brothers by a talent scout and joined the Holyhead Harpies shortly after.

Their lives were perfect. They had the perfect friends, got the right kind of promotions in the right order, found a house they came to call home and shortly thereafter my brother James was born. It sounds like a dream come true and perhaps it was. A few years later, I was born and then my baby sister Lily.

Things began to change when I began my first term at Hogwarts. Everyone was tense at the platform, when they sent me off. I used to think it was because they were just as scared as me about me going to Hogwarts. I found out later that what scared them was not what scared me, having to leave home, but rather what was the beginning of the end.

The first former Death Eaters had been admitted to St. Mungo’s high security quarantine wards weeks earlier. The primary symptoms were fatigue, bouts of aggressive behaviour and insanity. If we had known then what we know now, maybe we would have been able to stop the events that were about to unfold, as it happens, we didn’t know. We still wanted to save them.

Just before the end people would always say that if only we’d had known earlier, if only we’d have reacted more swiftly, we might have been able to avert the catastrophe. Today of course that has become a redundant discussion. Nobody was able to avert the inevitable. I sometimes wonder whether the people blame my father for ultimately failing to save them from Voldemort. Voldemort’s death is what brought all of this upon us, and it was my father who killed him unable to foresee the consequences.

For most people it’s all about finding and punishing the guilty party and moving on. But what if we can’t find it? What if the person we find out to be guilty had only the best intentions? How does one decide what makes the events of the past a failure or a success?

Truth is an interesting concept, history supposedly is full of it, but if you think about it, truth as defined by history is defined by the people who document it. There’s always a reason behind showing events in a certain light. Some people choose to teach the next generation about the failures of the past, others want to glorify it.

The truth behind this story however lies beneath the broken and constantly shifting surface of a memory.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“I see you are still a speccy git, Potter!” There’s no sting behind the words the way there used to be.

“Says the pompous prat!” Harry retaliates. He smiles, shaking the man’s hand warmly. “Aren’t you going to ask me to come inside?”

Draco, as Harry has begun to call him, makes an exaggerated welcoming gesture any valet would have given his right hand to be able to perform with such grace.

“Step on inside my humble abode, Auror Potter. How may I be of service to the Ministry today?”

Harry’s smile turns into a grin, he never thought he’d ever begin to appreciate Draco Malfoy’s cynical side, but if he is honest with himself he’s been really enjoying the other man’s company for far longer than either of them could have anticipated, given their colourful history.

They walk into one of the many drawing rooms in Malfoy Manor and Draco offers Harry a seat. He calls for a house elf to bring tea and biscuits.

“Do you sometimes think this is a bit strange?” Harry asks, blowing on his tea carefully and sipping it from the delicate china cup.

“I’m not sure I can follow you.”

“I mean us, sitting here like this, drinking tea and having biscuits.”

“Why would that be strange, Potter?”

Harry gives him a look and Draco grins back at him.

“Alright, Harry. Seriously though, we’ve been working together on so many cases, it’s only natural we’d finally get over ourselves and that you’d admit to the immense attraction you feel towards me.” He winks at Harry who blushes despite himself.

“You are full of it!”

“Malfoys are known for their exquisite taste Harry; they would know a good thing when they saw it!”

“So that’s why all the rooms in the Manor have mirrors in them, is it?” Harry says, wanting to slap himself, because he realises he’s not contradicted Draco’s statement at all. Damn it!

Draco smirks at him now, close to the sneer he used to wear at school, but Harry can now detect the traces of humour beneath it and the laughter just waiting to burst forth. They both try to contain their mirth in vain and begin to snicker. They are interrupted when a house elf shows up, delivering more biscuits.

“Mistress sent Duffy with more biscuit for young Master and his visitor,” it squeaks.

“Thank you!” Draco says politely, surprising Harry. This has happened a lot lately, Harry realises. Draco is full of surprises. His face becomes serious when he thinks about all the years they’ve wasted by constantly being at each other’s throats. He self-consciously fidgets with the buttons on his red Auror uniform.

“Harry!”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked whether you were alright.” Draco repeats.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted is all.”

Draco looks at him, as if prompting Harry to speak up. When that doesn’t work he takes more direct measures.

“Spit it out already Boy Wonder! What’s going on? Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but you mentioned something about work in your owl.”

“Hermione asked me to check on you and your father.”

Draco’s face immediately clouds over and his manner becomes instantly serious.

“What about us?”

Harry sees him pull his left sleeve down till it neatly covers his entire arm up to the palm of his hand.

“There’ve been some incidents and a few rumours…” Harry doesn’t get further before he is interrupted by Draco in a furious voice.

“You of all people should know that we have nothing to do with that anymore, Potter. Isn’t it enough that I work every day, trying to bring Death Eaters to justice, for you to finally believe that I’ve changed? I thought…” He stops himself from speaking and stands stiffly, his body language clear, he wants Harry to leave.

“Draco, listen, it’s nothing like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Harry steps up to Draco and squeezes his right arm reassuringly. “Please sit down again.”

Reluctantly Draco sits down and this time Harry doesn’t sit down opposite of him, but rather joins Draco on the small sofa. He turns to face him, because what’s coming might be difficult for the other man to hear.

“You know that Hermione works in the CMC’s subdivision of Control and Prevention, right?” Draco nods. “They’ve been getting reports of a sickness that only seems to affect marked Death Eaters. Some of them have been disappearing and some, who still live with their families and aren’t on the run have been committed to St. Mungo’s. Have you heard anything about it, or is either of you feeling unwell or strange?”

Harry finds he actually worries about Draco’s well-being and how he will take the news. This time it’s him who’s looking at the other man, prompting him to speak.

“I… I’ve been fine, but my father has been very tired. We thought it might have something to do with the war.” His words seem to be caught in his throat and he has to make an effort to continue speaking. “He’s never quite been the same since the Wizengamot sentenced him to house arrest for the rest of his life. I know we were both lucky and I’m sure you played no small part in our lenient sentences, but it’s completely destroyed him. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d swear he’s aged twenty years in the last ten months. My father never leaves his rooms anymore and spends most of his time sleeping.”

Harry knows he has to inform Hermione about another possible outbreak, he shouldn’t hesitate at all, because it might already be too late to even attempt to save Malfoy senior. As much as that goes against his nature, Hermione has told him what happened to those affected by the new plague and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemies, not even Voldemort’s former right-hand man. But he has to know, has to make sure that Draco is alright, maybe it’s just his “saving people thing” as Ron calls it, but deep down he knows there’s more to it.

“How about you, do you feel any different? Do you feel more fatigued than is normal or do you get enraged more easily?” Harry asks.

“I don’t really know. I’ve been so busy with work lately that I do feel exhausted and am more easily aggravated, but considering I’ve been spending ten hours a day at work, even worked weekends for the last three weeks, I don’t think it’s unusual under those circumstances.”

“Would you be willing to let Hermione test your aura to make sure?”

“I’m not sure… I don’t trust the Ministry, they’d keep my sample and use it against me somehow.”

Harry smiles weakly, paranoia he can deal with, even had anticipated.

“I’ve told Hermione that you probably wouldn’t allow her to take a sample unless it stayed strictly confidential and she has agreed to come over and set up the test here in your potions lab.”

Draco reluctantly agrees and after a quick floocall to Hermione’s office it only takes a few minutes before she shows up with a bag in hand, followed by two orderlies carrying a stretcher. All around the three of them shimmers the characteristic orange glow that marks them as wearing the wizarding equivalent of a hazmat suit, as distributed by the Centre for Magical Contamination when their operatives have to enter possibly affected areas.

Draco’s test is short and inconclusive, but there is no time to ponder on that. Hermione says she’ll now check up on Lucius Malfoy. An agitated Narcissa Malfoy leads the way up to his chambers and both Harry and Draco stay behind in the drawing room. Draco jumps and makes to head for the door, when a shriek and inhuman sounding howl echoes down from upstairs, but Harry stops him.

“Let me go!” Draco rages, tearing at Harry’s arm to free himself.

“Draco, I can’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Then you’ve made a piss poor job of it, Potter. Haven’t you? What the fuck are you letting them do to my father?”

Harry flinches when he hears such crude words out of Draco’s mouth. Despite his shock, his grip is gentle but firm as he holds Draco back and makes him sit down again. 

“No, you’re right, I haven’t!” Draco makes to interrupt him, but Harry won’t let him get a word in. “I didn’t know how to tell you. None of the Death Eaters committed to St. Mungo’s survived. They’re all highly contagious and became a danger to their family members as well as their caretakers. I… I only wanted to make sure you were okay. That you…” Harry can’t make himself say it, but Draco understands anyway.

Insane raving and steps grow louder as the orderlies carry Malfoy senior down the stairs. Before Harry can stop him, Draco has sprinted across the room and into the foyer. The door smashes into the wall beside the frame even before Harry has made it halfway across the room. His reflexes are superb, but apparently not good enough to anticipate a distraught Draco Malfoy.

When Harry reaches the foyer, his heart sinks. There tied to the stretcher lies Lucius Malfoy. Drool is dribbling out of his open mouth, his hair is dishevelled and he’s thrashing against the bonds that hold him. He’s howling and gnashing his teeth like a rabid animal. Hermione is keeping Draco and Narcissa at bay, who both appear to have tried to rush towards Lucius.

“What have you done to him? What have you done to my father?” Draco shouts, his mother already a picture of defeat. She must have known something was wrong with Draco’s father long before Draco did.

Harry steps up behind Draco and gently pulls him away from Hermione so she can take care of Mr. Malfoy.

“Potter, what the fuck!?”

Before Harry can speak, Lucius Malfoy begins to shriek.

“Don’t let them take me, don’t let them take me! Please Draco!” His voice doesn’t even sound human anymore. Draco turns around quickly, but Harry holds on to him as Lucius tries to lunge for him, shaking the stretcher so hard the orderlies almost drop it.

Draco begins to shake as he takes in his father’s appearance fully for the first time. Lucius pupils are blown wide and the irises have become a sickening yellow colour. He’s trying to bite the orderlies who attempt to strap him more firmly to the stretcher and Draco shrinks back.

Some part of Lucius must still be in the restrained man, because suddenly his features are filled with a look of unimaginable suffering.

“Oh Draco, I’m so sorry!” He says with anguish in his voice. Tears run down his cheeks and then he begins to cackle manically, and starts raving again.

“Granger, can’t you do something? Can’t you help him?” Draco says, looking at her and she sadly shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I can’t. Sedatives don’t seem to work.”

None of them is prepared when Narcissa throws herself at her husband, weeping uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry…” she keeps repeating over and over and then she screams when Lucius latches onto the line of her beautiful pale neck and bites down until he draws blood. She falls back to the floor, her hand at her throat while blood is gushing out, a look of utter disbelief on her face.

Hermione casts healing spell after healing spell at her, but none seem to work. The wounds caused by the people affected by the plague seem immune to healing spells. The room is filled with a cacophony of noise, as Draco shouts for his mother and Harry holds him back, Lucius releases mindless howl after mindless howl and Hermione tries to give orders to her colleagues.

“Jake, Oliver, take Mr. Malfoy to the high security ward. Auror Potter and I have the situation under control here, but send a second team for Mrs. Malfoy immediately. Hurry!”

Draco thrashes around in Harry’s grip hard enough to leave bruises, but Harry won’t release his hold.

Hermione is kneeling beside Mrs. Malfoy and trying to get her to let go of her throat so she can ascertain the extent of her injuries. She conjures a flannel and presses it against the wound to stem the blood flow that has increased exponentially when Mrs. Malfoy removed her hand. In seconds the flannel is soaked with her blood. Red specs of it cover her beautiful skirt and bodice. Hermione helps her to lower herself to the floor to get into a more comfortable position. Narcissa looks like a fallen Angel in her white gown, her pale hair spread around her beautiful face like a halo.

She’s not crying and hardly moving at all. The look of confusion tells Harry that any rescue will be too late in coming. Mrs. Malfoy is beyond help. He holds onto Draco as tightly as before, but Draco seems to have realised what Harry did only a moment ago and is clinging to him now, weeping uncontrollably. Harry’s heart breaks when he sees the strong man in front of him fall apart as he sees his life comes crashing down around him.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Our kisses are frantic as our mouths meet again and again, both of us pressing our faces through the bars of his cell. I shouldn’t give in to this, we could be discovered at any moment, but I can’t help myself. The kisses are only interrupted by hoarsely whispered words.

“You came for me! I knew you would!”

My heart flutters in my chest at those words. Of course I would come back for him. If we were a world apart, I’d still somehow manage to find him and bring him home with me.

I try to open the padlock holding Scorpius’ cell door closed manually, but the thing won’t budge. I’m getting more desperate by the minute. I hadn’t planned for this and it’s too dangerous to use magic this close to this many of the infected.

A woman is sleeping in a cell across the small corridor and I can’t know if she’s infected or not. If she was, she would give us away. Scorpius and I try a lot of different things until we run out of ideas. We both know what I’ll have to do and what it means.

“Don’t, Al! Just leave me. We’ll find another way.”

Scorpius hand is almost painful as it clutches my arm, just when I raise my wand.

“I have to.” Is all I say in reply. He looks at my face searchingly and must find what he’s looking for, because he squeezes my arm just once and then lets go.

“Alohomora!”

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“How’s he doing?”

The way Hermione looks at Harry makes his skin crawl. He wishes he hadn’t asked.

“There’s no change.” Her voice sounds dead and defeated even to him. He has become adept at finding bits and shreds of what makes Hermione herself under the piles of despair they’ve all had to shoulder for too long already.

“I’ve left the children with Ginny to check up on you. She said…”

“I don’t care what she said Harry. I’m going to make this work somehow, there’s got to be a way. I’ve got to be able to find a solution. I don’t understand why it’s not working. It should work, but every time I’ve tried something it’s only made his condition worse. Oh Harry, what am I supposed to do? I can’t lose him, I just can’t!”

Harry has stepped up beside his best friend and hugs her close to him. There are no words of comfort left; they have all been said weeks ago. He is not ready to admit it to himself yet, but they are beginning to lose hope. The only comfort left to give is that of touch. Harry strokes her frizzy hair gently, she is not crying, he knows that much, they are both too tired to do anything but cling to each other as if to a lifeline.

After a while, Hermione disentangles herself from his embrace and begins to work on her notes again, drawing up numbers, crossing things out and discarding entire sheets of papers covered in intelligible scribbles. Silence settles over them both like a shroud. Harry, not knowing what to do with himself eventually finds somewhere to sit in the overcrowded office. He watches Hermione, waiting for her to speak, it takes longer than he would have thought, but too many things have changed lately for it to be a surprise.

When she finally looks up, Harry can see it in her eyes. She knows she won’t be able to save Ron.

“Harry.” Her voice is small this time.

He walks back to her without a word. One thing he has learned since Ron got injured and infected is that Hermione will only talk about it in her own time.

“…I’ve tried everything. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand why…”

Harry rubs her shoulders gently.

“Hermione, you need to get some sleep. When you’ve rested you’ll be able to look at this with fresh eyes, what’s the point of driving yourself to exhaustion?” Harry knows Hermione doesn’t like to hear this, but before she can disagree with him, he plays his trump card. “You are being incredibly selfish, Hermione. You’ll get sloppy due to lack of sleep and you might get exposed yourself. What about Hugo and Rose? What gives you the right to deprive them of their mother like that? Think about them for a minute and what this is doing to them.”

“Harry…” her voice breaks and now she is crying. Harry knows it’s cruel to go on, but he has to, he can’t bear seeing his friend like this and if he has to hurt her to make her see reason, he will.

“I know you are trying your best, but you can’t leave them alone with this. They believe they’ve already lost their father, how can you even think about abandoning them as well? They have nobody to talk to about this but you and you’re sitting here, locked into your lab, trying to find a solution to a problem we both know probably doesn’t even have one.”

Hermione’s tears soak Harry’s shoulder as he holds her shaking frame.

“Come on. You know it’s for the best.”

“No.”

“Come on Hermione, let me take you home.”

“But Ron… I can’t just leave him…”

“He’s stable Hermione, you told me so yourself, the stasis charm’s working at least. Get some rest please. Go home and talk to your children, they need you!”

Finally, Hermione nods. Harry helps her into her coat and apparates them home. He lights the fire in their living room and makes Hermione lie down on the sofa, covering her with a thick woollen blanket and stuffing a pillow behind her back.

“Stay with me please.” She whispers. Harry squeezes her hand and promises to stay. No sooner has her head hit the pillow than she is already sound asleep.

Harry is still holding her hand. He sits down on the floor, sighing at the comfortable feeling of the thick carpet beneath him and stretches his feet towards the fire. Eventually, his eyelids droop and he follows his friend into exhausted sleep.

********

They are both startled awake by a piercing shriek. The room is lit by the silver light of a horse Patronus and the terrified voice of Ginny suddenly fills the air.

“They’re here, they’ve come for us. Oh Merlin, help us, somebody…” and there her shout gets cut off as if by force. The Patronus disintegrates slowly, leaving both Harry and Hermione in the dark, their faces frozen in shock. The fire has gone out long ago, but neither of them is feeling the cold.

There’s a flurry of movement as they both jump into action, grabbing wands and further weapons, getting ready to apparate.

When they arrive in Godric’s Hollow, Harry’s home is already beyond help. The flames leap high up into the night sky as if trying to unite their light with that of the stars. Harry and Hermione’s breath follow the spirals of smoke into the air in small silvery clouds.

“Oh Merlin, the children, where are the children?” Harry shouts and runs towards the flames. Hermione clings to him, but he just drags her with him like so much dead weight. The skin on his face begins to blister and his hair is smouldering and finally Hermione lets go. Harry runs into the burning house without protection, his tears evaporating before they can even run down his cheeks.

Inside it’s like an inferno, he can barely see where he is going because of all the smoke and heat, making the air shimmer like a mirage, and making him see things that aren’t there. His ankle is caught by something and when he turns to dislodge it, he is faced with the first of the infected that invaded his home. Its hand is clutching Harry’s ankle, trying to make him stumble. A swift kick makes it let go. Harry turns around and almost bumps into the next one, the man’s hair is on fire and his eyes are a sick yellow colour. There’s no time for fighting, Harry fells the thing in front of him with a single swish of his wand and moves on. And then he hears it, almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire and the sound of groaning and breaking wood as the roof collapses, bringing down several heavy beams. It’s the sound of someone calling for help.

Harry is frantic with fear and adrenalin; he rushes towards where he thinks he has heard the noise. When he reaches the small door beneath the stairs that leads to the basement he tries to open it, but burns his hand on the door handle that already glows in a dull threatening red. More blisters and pain and yet he doesn’t even seem to notice as he throws himself against the door which has been barricaded from inside. A simple _Alohomora_ won’t help either.

Suddenly the door gives way and Harry stumbles down the wooden stairs. The oxygen rushing into the rest of the house makes the fire burn hotter and closes off his exit route.

There they are, huddled together in the corner, his family. He runs towards them, ignoring his hurt skin and only stops when he sees their frightened faces turn towards him. Lily whimpers and hides her face in Al’s shoulder. They must think he is one of the infected. Merlin knows what he looks like. But there’s no time to explain, no time to calm anyone down. He reaches for Lily and Albus. He pretends it doesn’t hurt when they both shrink from his touch. 

The first of the infected has found its way to the top of the stairs. It’s on fire and lighting the room like a human torch as it stumbles down the steps towards them. Harry can’t wait any longer. He grabs his three children and presses them to him despite their struggle. Ginny is shielding Hugo and Rose both from him and the creature in the room. Harry briefly closes his eyes and concentrates. Destination, determination and deliberation. With a crack he disappears from within the basement and reappears outside beside Hermione who is fending off more of the infected.

“Take them away.” Harry shouts, his throat hurts with every word. Without waiting for a reply he apparates back into the inferno.

What he finds lets his blood run cold; Ginny is defending herself against a group of three of the infected with the broken-off leg of a chair. She must have dropped her wand at some point. Hugo and Rose are cowering in the corner behind her, their eyes are dark with fear.

Harry sprints over to them, grabbing a hold of both their arms and reaching for Ginny. Just then, the wooden floor above them groans and begins to shake, half of it tumbles down into the cellar and brings the heat of the fire with it. Harry blinks repeatedly. What he sees can’t be real, it can’t be true. Ginny is on the other side of the burning floor, she’s trapped with the roaring fire at her back and the infected in front of her. She screams in agony as her clothes catch fire and there’s nothing Harry can do. He’s too late.

She turns towards him, her face distorted by pain and the hot air. He can barely hear her, but he knows what she’s saying, despite the noise and the heat. I love you.

“No, Ginny! No!”

And then they are upon her, bringing her down and tearing on her limbs. Harry can hear her now, she’s screaming and her voice rises higher than should be humanly possible. Suddenly her screams stop. Harry is weeping and shaking uncontrollably. Around him the house is coming down.

He doesn’t know how, but he manages to get Rose and Hugo out. He apparates them to their house. It’s pure luck that he doesn’t splinch himself or them.

His children are huddled together in a corner. Terror the only emotion etched into their beautiful faces. Harry stumbles up to them and collapses in front of them. He can still hear their terrified shouts and questions, but he can’t make himself answer.

“Where’s mum? What happened?”

Harry closes his eyes, hearing their voices hurts more than he can stand, only theirs and not Ginny’s. He was too late. If only he’d been quicker, if only… if only.

Harry doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious. He’s lying in a bed that’s probably in the guestroom of Hermione’s house. Everything around him is quiet. Somebody healed the burns on his skin and scalp. There’s a bandage around his right wrist that he must have either broken or sprained when he fell down the stairs.

Ginny’s face haunts him, it’s all he can see when closes his eyes, that look of betrayal and sorrow he saw there, before she was taken from him. His tears are silent and fall unnoticed.

Hermione finds him curled up in a ball, facing the wall hours later. He hasn’t moved at all. He doesn’t speak, not even when she makes his children come and visit him. They sit with him, but it’s like they don’t exist to him. Nothing does, but his quiet sorrow and the words chasing themselves around inside his head. _I should have been there, I should have been there…_

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

The air is filled with a cacophony of the infected’s cries and wails. They’ve sensed the magic I was forced to use to unlock Scorpius door. I can hear them throwing themselves against the bars of their cages in a mindless attempt to get closer to us. It’s time to leave.

The woman in her cell reaches for us searchingly and it’s as if fate was trying to make it harder for us. Her door opens with a simple click that is far too inconspicuous and quiet for what meaning it carries. She steps out onto the corridor, as if in a trance.

Her head is slowly swinging from left to right, as she’s trying to catch our scent. Her eyes are unseeing but she must have some additional sense that helps her locate sources of magic, because it doesn’t take long and her face is pointed our way. We don’t dare take so much as a single breath. When she takes her first lurching step into our direction, I know it’s already too late.

Scorpius steps to the side, trying to distract the infected, but the woman doesn’t even seem to be able to notice him, her unseeing gaze is still fixed in my direction and now she’s walking towards me, faster and more steadily than only a moment ago. I’m frozen in shock and take an involuntary step back. I stumble and almost fall as my foot catches on a stone on the uneven floor.

The woman is almost upon me now, her arms reach greedily for me and a low grumbling sound similar to that of a dog protecting its bone rises from her chest. Before she can touch me. Scorpius steps smartly behind her, grabs her by the back of her head and her chin and twists sharply. The sound of breaking vertebrae is nauseating and far louder than I would have anticipated. We both expected that to be enough, it would have been for any human, but the woman doesn’t even slow down. She disentangles herself from Scorpius’ grip and moves towards me again. Her head is hanging down at a sickening angle but that doesn’t stop her.

I can see the panic build in Scorpius’ eyes. We need a weapon, but there is nothing here and I just know that it’s only seconds before I’ll run into the back wall. And yes, there it is, the rough edges of the cold stones dig into my back. The woman stretches her arm out and grabs me, trying to pull me closer, her foul breath rises into my nostrils, making me gag. It’s too late, there’s nothing I can do, she’ll devour me and there’ll be nothing left of who I was. Sorrow overcomes me at the thought of not being able to remember who I am and who I loved. My eyes seek Scorpius’. I want him to be the last thing I see, not the foul dead thing in front of me.

He’s not there anymore. My heart breaks at the betrayal. I can’t believe he left me behind.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“Harry? For fuck’s sake, are you even listening to me?” Draco pokes Harry in the rib almost painfully and Harry looks at him with bleary eyes. His hair has grown long and looks like a raven exploded on his head.

Harry hasn’t been listening, hasn’t even pretended to listen for a long time. He just doesn’t care anymore, about anything.

“Potter, I’m not going to tell you this twice, if you don’t pay attention I’ll make you keep minutes of this discussion with a Blood Quill!”

“I don’t care.” He makes himself say.

“Potter, what does it say on the back of your hand? _I must not tell lies._ I know you bloody well care. Snap out of it, stop making us all suffer through your little pity-fest and bloody well help!” Draco shouted the last word making Harry jump.

Harry looks around the room guiltily. He hasn’t even changed his clothes since Hermione put him in here. He doesn’t know what time it is let alone what day it is.

“I did my duty, I killed Voldemort. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t it somebody else’s turn now?” Harry says but already knows he doesn’t really mean it. Nothing he thinks does ring true anymore

“You know what, Potter?” Draco replies. “It’s me who doesn’t care. I don’t care about your little temper tantrum. I don’t care whether you’re too wrapped up in whatever it is that’s fucking with your head. I don’t care about your feelings or your duty or you for that matter. What I do care about is my son. So get off your lazy arse and be a father. Stop hiding behind what happened and talk to your children. Help Granger get through her day now that her husband can’t anymore. Stop being so fucking selfish and help the people who really need it. It’s your thing isn’t it? Helping people and saving the world? Well get the fuck on with it.”

Harry stares at Draco disbelievingly, nobody has ever spoken to him like that before.

“I…” He doesn’t get much further.

“And you know what else? Get out of your fucking bed and take a shower, you stink! And while you’re at it, brush your teeth, unless you enjoy getting called on by randy ghouls who enjoy the minty freshness of decay that wafts through the room with every breath you exhale!”

When Harry still doesn’t move Draco simply grabs him and pushes him into the ensuite bathroom. Draco turns on the shower with a flick of his wand and pushes a struggling and completely dressed Harry into its spray. Harry rages and splutters and behaves like a petulant child. He makes sure to get as much water as possible on the pristinely dressed man in front of him.

“Fuck you, I fucking hate you. You’re such a wanker Malfoy! Let go off me.”

“No can do, Scarhead!”

Harry tries to step out of the shower and leaves Draco no other choice but to join him. He doesn’t appear to mind when his clothes get wet, he doesn’t mind when Harry hits him repeatedly, even scratches him in an attempt to free himself. Draco simply manhandles him back under the hot spray. Harry feels all strength drain from him. He slumps against Draco, water cascading over both of them, inhaling Draco’s unique scent with every intake of breath. He doesn’t know when he begins to sob, when he starts clinging to Draco instead of trying to hurt him. Harry can’t stop the words that want to burst forth.

“It’s all my fault. It’s my fault she’s gone. If only I’d been there sooner… if only…”

Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s shaking form. He draws slow wide circles on his back, encouraging him to let go.

“Shhhh. It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice for your friend. It’s not your fault Harry.”

Harry clings to him, dignity forgotten. Draco is his anchor, seems to be the only thing holding insanity at bay. He whimpers and drools as he cries but the evidence of his sorrow is washed away by the warm clear water from the tap. 

Draco’s strong arms hold him steady, hold him upright. There’s the lightest brush of lips against his scalp and then Draco moves away. Harry makes to follow him, unwilling to be apart even the shortest distance, but Draco shushes him. He holds Harry away from him and begins unbuttoning Harry’s soiled and scorched Auror robes. The garment is lifted off Harry’s frame carefully and dropped to the floor outside the tub. It’s swiftly followed by Harry’s shirt and trousers and eventually his pants and socks. He stands before Draco, completely naked, but he doesn’t feel vulnerable. Draco has seen him bared to his soul only a moment ago and this is nothing compared to that.

“Aren’t you going to?” Harry says, not even sure why he’s asking. Draco only shakes his head.

“It’s too soon, Harry.” He gently brushes a wet strand of hair out of Harry’s face and smiles at him.

They don’t speak when Draco begins to carefully spread shampoo through Harry’s hair. His long beautiful hands make sure to massage Harry’s scalp who can’t help but moan at the sensation. All tension leaves his body and he leans against Draco, his eyes closed, just letting this weird and wonderful moment happen.

A soft cloth is conjured and Draco uses it to gently wash Harry’s face and neck. He traces it across his arms, back and torso and along his legs. Harry shudders in delight. Somehow Draco seems to wash all that darkness that has been infesting his very being for too long off of him with those simple steady strokes. His heart feels lighter than it has in years.

“There now,” Draco says, after one final lingering swipe across Harry’s arm. “Doesn’t that feel much better now?”

Harry doesn’t know why he does it, he will brood on it later again and again, whether this is a betrayal of Ginny’s memory and he will never find an answer. But at this moment he doesn’t think, he just leans forward, leans into Draco and kisses him.

**********

He can hear voices as he makes his way downstairs, Draco only two steps behind him. They are coming from the kitchen, exactly where he’s headed. Harry doesn’t know whether he can bear it, doesn’t know whether he is ready to be around people.

“Draco, I don’t…”

Draco takes his hand for one fleeting moment and squeezes it reassuringly.

“It’s okay Harry, you can do it!”

And just like that Harry’s anxiety falls off of him, like a dead snakeskin.

Dinner is a solemn affair despite the effort everyone present seems to make at keeping the mood light. Hermione is there with her children and so are James, Lily and Albus. Scorpius sits beside Rose and casts unreadable looks at Al now and then. Harry doesn’t know what to make of them, but wonders what must have happened to separate the two. They barely exchange more than two words over the course of an hour.

When dinner is finished, Harry hugs his children and kisses them goodnight. He’s still too exhausted to stay up much longer and his children are grown now. They’ll be alright without him for another night.

Draco brings him to his room and tucks him in. It should feel awkward but it doesn’t. Harry catches Draco’s arm when he tries to straighten up and leave.

“Stay with me, please.” It’s the hardest thing Harry has ever had to ask anyone.

Draco just smiles as if it’s nothing and climbs under the covers with Harry, wrapping an arm around him from behind and holding him close. If anyone is surprised that Draco never sleeps in his own room after this night, they never mention it.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

The door flies open and Scorpius bursts back into the room. His eyes are lit by an inner fury I haven’t seen in them before. He advances swiftly.

“Close your eyes and keep your mouth shut tight until I tell you it’s safe,” he yells.

I obey without a second thought and instantly feel something warm and wet splash against my face, neck and shoulders. Not opening my eyes, not making a disgusted face is almost impossible. Scorpius steps up to me, his hand is strong and reassuring as he grips my forearm.

“It’ll be alright in a second. You can do it!”

He grabs for my wand and before I can stop him, he’s cast a _Scourgify_ on me, setting the infected off again. Their fight against their confinement becomes more and more frantic. Instead of telling me to open my eyes, Scorpius presses a quick possessive kiss against my lips. My eyes fly open in surprise and I see him flash me a cheeky grin, before I’m dragged out of the room.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“So you see, seven times seven is a powerful combination. It’ll definitely last long enough for them to be save and if it doesn’t we can build in a fail-safe.”

Draco looks at Hermione doubtfully.

“How’d we go about making them? And only seven people. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed Granger, but we need room for more than just seven.”

“That’s the thing you see. We’ll make several chambers, they’ll all have their own air supply, they’ll be completely independent and they’ll all give their occupants an equal chance of waiting out this pandemic without danger of infection.”

“I suppose that might work. How do you propose we make sure we’ll have all we need to survive, once we wake up though?”

“That’s the beauty of it.” Hermione sounds excited for the first time in a long time. Harry smiles, he loves watching his best friend and his lover debate like this. “We can create safe houses and hide their location through the _Fidelius Charm_. Everyone in those pods will be a secret keeper, they’ll have to be obliviated of course, but we’ll just build in a memory trigger and then they’ll be able to find maps and supplies and their way to the safe houses without any difficulty.”

“I think you might be onto something there, Granger!”

It takes another hour for Draco and Hermione to figure out all the details, but when they are done, the idea seems sound. Should the chamber collapse due to some malfunction or lack of magical energy to sustain it, it’ll start shrinking, transferring out the pods first to make sure their occupants don’t come to any harm. Should the chamber detect the presence of the curse, it’d begin waking the occupants so they could defend themselves. Every chamber would be equipped with a lab and a room for a pensieve to store memories needed. There’s not enough time to put everything down in writing. The infected are everywhere now.

“I only see one problem.” Harry finally speaks up.

“And what might that be, oh mighty Hero?” Draco asks, causing Harry to mock-glare at him before becoming serious again.

“I doubt the children will agree to go under. I know my sons too well, they wouldn’t give in without a fight, they wouldn’t abandon us. How are we going to solve that?”

“I was thinking, Harry, that we could use approximately one chamber per family, or something like that. We already know we have to build several of them.”

They agree to begin building the chambers and pods the very next day. Hermione has already drawn up sketches on how to go about it and will supply the spells needed to make it work.

That night after Harry and Draco make love to each other, they lie awake and talk. They’ve taken their time, touching and caressing as if trying to imprint each other onto their minds. It’s one of the last quiet nights they have together and one they’ll always think back to when hope seems almost out of reach.

A week later Draco collapses after helping to create the first underground cave that’s supposed to house the first seven pods. It takes two days for him to recover and when he leaves their room, there are dark shadows beneath his eyes.

The curse has caught up with him. His dark mark is red and the skin where it blemishes his arm is itching like mad, making it almost impossible to stop scratching. Harry doesn’t know what to do. He’d hoped with all his heart that just maybe, because Draco had been a new recruit, the curse wouldn’t take, but it has. Hermione has tested his aura again and again with the same result each time.

She’s feeding him all sorts of experimental drugs to slow down the process and it seems to be working so far. He’s mostly just tired but not irritable and that’s a good sign.

Harry knows that Draco is frustrated. He’s too weak to help with the creation of the pods and side chambers, all he can do is collect data and keep the notes in order for the occupants of the pods. He’s never been one for lying around, watching others do the work he knows he could do better himself. Harry tries to show him every night how much he treasures him and how much Draco means to him, but he’s not always getting through.

When Hermione asks, Harry always claims they are not sleeping together anymore. It’s far too dangerous, he knows, but Draco is the one thing in his fucked up entirely too confusing life that still makes sense somehow. They fool themselves by using protective charms which probably don’t work as well as they should, especially not since this is a magical ailment, but they don’t really care anymore. 

With Draco out of the picture, the magic in their group is not enough to create more than one chamber, they all know what this means. They will have to stay behind, to make sure their children are safe and have a chance at a better future.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

We are hiding. Light is seeping into the room from beneath the door. I can hear people running past and more shouting, from the guards this time. Scorpius takes my hand and pulls me towards the back of the room. I look around myself and I can just barely make out long slender shapes fixed to the walls.

“I think we’re in some kind of weapons storage,” he says. He still holds the elongated thing in his hand which he was holding when he came back to rescue me.

“What’s that anyway?” I ask.

“It’s a Katana,” Scorpius replies.

I know I’ve heard the name somewhere before. And then it hits me. It’s a sword. A Japanese sword. The irony of hunting down the infected with weapons preferred by ninjas isn’t lost on me. I look at the shapes on the walls again and realise, the entire room is filled with more swords. We should arm ourselves.

“I wonder if there’re any sheaths so we can take them with us.” I ponder out loud.

“They’re over here, that’s why I wanted you to come.”

I can hear the amusement in Scorpius’ voice. We know each other too well, got too close over the years to not know what the other is thinking. His hands are running across my back and my shoulders. They come together upon my chest. The straps of the sheath are tight, but still comfortable. He traces its outline with his fingernails across my skin and I shiver with arousal.

“Scorpius!” I scold him, but we both know I don’t really mean it. He leans into me and breathes warmly on my neck, his quiet chuckle in my ear is both wicked and full of promise.

He moves away from me and I can breathe normally again. He straps his own sheath to his back as if he’d done it all his life. Scorpius makes me practise how to sheath and unsheathe my sword without hurting myself and then all that’s left for us to do is wait.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“Albus, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Harry pushes an unresisting Albus towards the open door of the chamber, dragging Draco inside behind him and slamming and sealing the door. Draco has run out of potion days ago and the curse is progressing much faster.

Albus stutters trying to explain something that can’t be explained. It doesn’t seem to matter either way considering how Harry is shouting at him, berating him for his carelessness.

It takes Harry a while to even notice the charred doorway to the potion’s lab and the acrid smell of smoke in the air.

“Stay here.” Is the last thing he says to his son, before he dashes towards the open doorway. Albus is hot on his heels and it takes all of Harry’s considerable strength to keep his son from entering the room with him.

Some part of Harry knows what the state of the room means. He looks at the smouldering remains of Hermione’s working desk, only two flasks of SBD have survived what must have been a massive explosion.

Harry looks around himself trying to find Hermione and Scorpius, who’d been assisting her. Something moves beneath what’s left of the large potion shelves that covered the entire back wall of the room. Harry climbs over the rubble that’s piled up on the other side of the doorway and heads for the shelves and begins uncovering the two people buried underneath.

Things have gone bad really quickly. Neither of them has had a full night’s sleep in over a month and the only reason this chamber exists at all is their constant vigilance and strong protective spells. Harry’s Auror uniform is mostly torn to shreds, the only reason he’s still wearing it being that they can’t go back home, because it’s too dangerous.

What Harry finds beneath the debris makes his heart stop and then beat more quickly. Hermione is dead, he can tell that much from her broken eyes staring at nothing. But she shielded Scorpius even in death and a quick searching grasp for his pulse reveals him to be still alive. There’s no time for sorrow, there’s only time for action. Harry kneels down beside Hermione and gently closes her eyes. Part of him wants to think that she’s now reunited with Ron, but he doesn’t really believe in that kind of thing anymore. At least her suffering is finally over.

He carries and drags Scorpius into the main room and Albus is immediately by his side.

“Scorpius? But how…? What’s wrong with him dad?” Albus is getting in Harry’s way. He’s anxious for Scorpius Harry realises. If the fact that he does still have feelings for Draco’s son had been made known to Harry at any other point in time, he’d have been pleased, he’s sure about it. Right now it’s not something he can take into consideration.

He rests Scorpius against the wall of the chamber and checks him for injuries. Luckily there are none. Harry casts a series of cleaning charms on Scorpius to prepare him for what’s inevitably to come.

They can’t leave the chamber again and there’s no time to lose. There’s only one empty sarcophagus, all the others have already been closed and sealed to outlast the pandemic.

Albus is hovering over Scorpius, wringing his hands in anguish but not quite daring to touch him. Harry completely ignores him and concentrates on creating another pod. He taps into his own magical core and goes through the series of spells Hermione has taught him, before releasing them all in one rush of pure wild magic. There’s an eighth pod in the chamber now. Creating it took almost all of his power and Harry sinks to his knees after completing his task.

He’s not done, not by a long shot. Albus is so busy worrying over Scorpius that he doesn’t notice when his father draws his wand on him and stuns him. Harry quickly summons the two phials of potion from the ravaged lab and stuffs them in his pocket.

It takes him longer than he likes to put his youngest son and Scorpius into their pods. He enervates them swiftly to magically force them to drink the draught. Harry watches them as they both fall deep into unconsciousness. The draught he used on Scorpius was experimental at best, but it’s his only chance, much more than Draco or Harry will ever have.

After one last look at their relaxed features, Harry closes the pod lids and seals them. Now it is up to them to make a new future.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

We run. It’s a familiar sensation. Scorpius and I had tried to locate his wand with a simple and quite effective point me spell. Getting it out of the lab inevitably had proved far more difficult than we had anticipated. Not only was the lab proofed against any kind of magic, it was also guarded and filled with people. The fierce humming and hissing of the reinforced anti-apparition wards was almost nauseating.

It took us far longer than I liked to find an opening. More of the infected must have got loose, while we were hiding in the weapons storage room. The guards evacuated the entire floor and we stole in to take possession of Scorpius’ wand.

Around us the infected howl ever louder with every hex and stunner we send at our pursuers. We can’t stop now. My legs are sore and Scorpius must feel even worse, confined to his cell for weeks unable to do anything but pace its tiny length in frustration.

My foot catches on something and I stumble and twist my ankle painfully. Scorpius reaches for me and drags me with him. I don’t know where he’s taking the strength from to run and force me along with him. I pant and gasp as the stitch in my side tortures me. The foul stench of the cages makes bile rise in my throat and it’s all I can do to keep from throwing up.

And then I smell it, the scent of wet earth and rain. We are almost there. Out there under the night sky, heavy with rain clouds, out in the open and out of this nightmare.

We burst out of the house onto the muddy street. The door slams into the wall with a resounding crash and still we keep running. We are soaked instantly, both by the rain and the puddles we race through. Every step is accompanied by a loud splash of water and I can’t tell anymore which are made by us and which by the others. My ankle hurts with every step. All I want to do is to sink to the floor and give up. All I want is for the pain to end. For a moment I regret ever having woken up from my long sleep.

This new world is full of pain and suffering. Nothing is easy. But the worst part is that I feel more dead than alive. My emotions feel dulled somehow, as if the draught we were made to take did something to us, making us less than human.

“Which way do we go Albus?” Scorpius shouts. I point haphazardly to an alley on our left and am dragged through it without apparent concern of whether I make it through in one piece. My coat and the skin of my shoulder gets torn as I careen into the walls on either side. I’ve grown numb to the constant pain in my ankle and the added sensation of tearing skin doesn’t even properly register with me anymore. I stagger after Scorpius, carried on by his moment with no control of where I’m going.

“Faster Al! Come on, we have to shake them off!”

I don’t even care anymore. There’s no way we are going to make it.

Scorpius pushes me through an unlocked door and slams it behind us. He drags some old piece of furniture in front of it that’s falling to pieces as he moves it and then suddenly we are surrounded by the comfortable feeling or wards. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn we were in Malfoy Manor.

I smile at him. We are safe, finally. My legs buckle under me and I don’t even see the floor rushing up to meet me, before unconsciousness claims me.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Harry feels guilty for stunning his son and forcing both him and Scorpius into those pods. He only hopes that the memory inhibiting part of the draught works in his favour, blocking out the last few hours for Al.

There’s a few more things for him to do. He’s always alone in the end, this is nothing new. Harry looks fondly onto Draco who has dozed off. Not long now and they’d both finally be at peace.

Harry is tired, every step feels like it’s the equivalent of a week-long cross-country march. When he makes it into the pensieve chamber he has to lean against the table and catch his breath before he can continue. There’s already row upon row of perfectly labelled phials of memories. Everything has been prepared weeks in advance and only Harry was the one who could never quite find the time. He conjures a quill and writes his youngest son’s name onto a piece of paper which he attaches to the last empty phial.

He tries to recall everything in his life that led him here, tries to bring out the memories that will be the most useful to Albus and then puts his wand to his temple, drawing string upon string of silvery memories from it and carefully depositing them in the phial. When he’s done, Harry carefully stoppers it and puts it beside the others.

Emptiness is all that he can feel. There’s only one more thing to do now and as much as he’s willing to do it, he wouldn’t be Harry Potter, if part of him wasn’t terrified of the implications.

Creating the extra pod has left Harry with barely enough magic to apparate Hermione’s remains, Draco and himself out of the chamber. He takes Hermione as well, because he doesn’t want the children to find her when they wake. It’ll be scary enough as it is. 

It’s a small miracle they make it to where he was yearning to go at all. The dark shape of the castle looms in the distance. Hogwarts has been closed for over a year; the castle looks cold and empty as if its soul is missing. Dead leaves dance around Harry’s feet as he gently lowers both Hermione and Draco to the floor.

Hermione’s still and fragile looking form is covered by small rocks. Each of the smooth pebbles from the lakeside slowly make up a funeral pile. Before he covers the last of her, Harry presses one last kiss to her forehead. _If only they’d known…_

Draco has woken up and Harry joins him under a large oak tree that’s just by the lakeside. The bark feels cold and hard against his back, but he doesn’t really mind, he only pulls Draco closer to himself, holding him against his chest.

Draco is too weak to even move of his own accord now. It won’t be long until the end. The sun has set long ago and the entire scene is only lit by the stars, their reflection glittering and flitting on the unsteady surface of the lake. If not for the constant motion of the water, one would have been unable to distinguish the sky from earth. At times like these, the two are so similar that it doesn’t even seem to matter. One can almost imagine souls floating up from their bodies, over the cool water to the horizon where sky and water are united. The reflections becoming actual stars.

“Harry…”

Harry turns to look at Draco.

“It’s time.”

They’ve argued about this too often to continue now. Harry draws out the two phials from his breast pocket that represents the measure of last resort. They look tiny and innocent on his palm, just lying there, their grace no indication of the darkness that lurks beneath their fragile surfaces.

Harry bends down one last time and kisses Draco lingeringly; this is what he wants to remember, kissing Draco, in front of Hogwarts, under the stars with the forbidden forest at their back. He opens the phial designated for Draco first, but when he moves it to the man’s lip, Draco’s hand stops him at the last minute. He looks at Harry, and there in his eyes is all that he needs to know, needed to hear for so long.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Draco lets go of Harry’s hand. This time there’s no resistance when Harry tilts the bottle, its cool liquid running into Draco’s mouth, him swallowing obediently. Harry’s bottle is next, he doesn’t wait, doesn’t want t be the only one left. He casts one last look at the lake in front of him and then at Draco that lies in his arms as if asleep. Harry knows that neither of them will ever wake again. He tips his head back and swallows the contents of the phial in one swift gulp.

Hours later the sun rises on two figures huddled together as if asleep. The wind covers them in dead leaves brought from across the vast expanses of the forbidden forest. Soon they are hidden under a colourful blanket. Hogwarts is welcoming them home in its own way. For the first time they have been here together, not sharing words of hatred but of love. In the years to come many will pass through the grounds of Hogwarts, but for some reason, the remains of the two lovers are never discovered.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“Are they still outside?” I ask Scorpius who is peering through the mostly boarded up window.

“Yes.”

We both fall silent. I look away from him and down at my sprained ankle. I only hope I haven’t broken it. It’s swollen and hurts at even the slightest touch. We don’t dare use magic to heal it. We both ran hot and our trail is already too easy to follow for us to take more risks.

Scorpius sighs audibly and then walks over to where he propped me up on an old smelly sofa. He squats down beside me and feels my forehead. I quickly turn my head and press my cheek into the warm palm of his hand.

I reach for him, hold his gaze with mine and pull his face towards me. When our lips meet, there’s nothing of the frenzy about it, which we gave in to down in the cellar. His lips slide against mine unhesitatingly but also void of any sense of urgency. He pulls away and looks down at me. I take my time, tracing his face with my fingers, relearning its shape. His eyelids flutter shut in pleasure and I smile. Eventually my hand comes to rest just above his heart and I revel in its steady beating.

I remember why I was happy to wake up. Why this new world was far more exciting and less scary when I first discovered it. Because it was something I could share with him. This right here, is where I should be. Not amongst the ranks of the leaders of this place, but with him. When his heart beats in time with mine, I feel connected to everything, and I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I belong. Wherever he is will be my home.

Scorpius reluctantly turns his face away from mine to look at the window.

“We should leave!”

I nod. We need to get out of here so we can fix my ankle and then find the others. I know where their quarters are. It’s best if we all stick together, just the seven of us. We have no choice but to rely on each other in this perilous world that’s coming apart at the seams.

~Fin~


End file.
